


Extra Cheese

by chaoticlivi



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Pizza Place, Car Accident, F/M, Fluff, NSFW, Smut, pizza delivery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticlivi/pseuds/chaoticlivi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired of studying for her impossible music course, college student Maka Albarn orders a pizza for dinner. Her delivery driver is Soul, a mysterious and awkward new guy who recognizes the song she's listening to. So begin a mutual fascination and a number of sweet encounters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extra Cheese

**Author's Note:**

> I'm absolutely thrilled to be involved in Resbang, to be part of something with so many incredible people. You guys have already started posting a cornucopia of beautiful fanfiction and fanart and I hope you will enjoy this little story as much as I'm enjoying your work. :D Thanks to FabulousAnima and MarshofSleep for your help.

**Monday, October 19**

Books. There are books spread everywhere, along with loose-leaf papers, an empty cereal bowl, and a teacup. A pair of pillows and a blanket lie on the disheveled couch. She's not usually a slob like this.

Maka doesn't remember exactly how her little living room got to be this way; it must have started last night when she decided to buckle down and study for her Music Theory and Appreciation midterm. She'd opened her organic chemistry book after about an hour to study something less frustrating, and then put off studying music further by reviewing the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, which also led her to open _Grey's Anatomy_ and _Understanding Human Physiology, 7th ed._ A book for pleasure reading ( _Wealth and Taste_ ) also lies on the coffee table where she left it an hour ago.

Two weeks until this stupid exam. All in all, Maka really regrets the day she decided to take a music class. At the time, being a well-rounded person sounded like a great idea, and she actually had a slot open for an elective this semester - but apparently, she should have picked pretty much anything but music.

This class means business. It doesn't help that the professor (a short, thin, eccentric man who always wears a top hat and wields a cane as if he is King Arthur and it is the Holy Sword) has absolutely nothing useful to say during lecture. Maka has stubbornly refused to drop the damn course now that it’s in session because she's not an academic quitter.

She won't get a bad grade, she thinks; it will be a B at worst. She's pretty sure she's memorized enough to spit back most of the material on the midterm exam. However, it bothers her to not understand everything as well as she does in other classes. For the life of her, she can't apply what she is memorizing to real music. Getting a decent grade in this course, even without understanding a thing about music, feels dishonest. Anyway, she wants a well-earned A.

Maka rubs her temples. She's barely eaten anything in the past 16 hours, and that's no good for learning. She reaches for her phone and speed-dials the local pizza delivery joint.

"Hello, thankyouforcalling SliceofLifePizzeria, howcanIhelpyou?" answers a harried voice Maka recognizes as Liz Thompson.

"Hi Liz, it's Maka. Can I get a small margherita pizza for delivery?"

"Oh, hi Maka. Of course. I know your address. Should be ready in twenty."

"Thanks--"

Liz hangs up before Maka can finish, but she knows not to be offended. Everyone on campus must have had exactly the same idea about ordering pizza while studying for midterms.

Maka turns on a recording of the assigned music for thoughtful listening, trying to fill out a worksheet that is intended as a study guide. She doesn't understand exactly how she's supposed to hear what she's looking for. She can't separate the sounds of all the unique instruments and the singer's voice; for her, it all comes together in a way that is impossible to disentangle.

There is a knock on her door exactly twenty-seven minutes later, and she opens it to an unfamiliar face.

"Hi, small pepperoni pizza?" he asks, glancing hopefully from a small receipt in his hand to Maka's eyes. His are a deep burgundy red, and he has ruffled white hair under the uniform hat.

"Actually, mine was a margherita pizza," she answers.

The delivery boy - Soul, judging from his name tag - glances again at the receipt, then at the box in his hand, then back at the receipt, and then at the car behind him before whispering, "Shit."

"You know, don't worry about it," Maka says. "I like pepperoni, too. I'll take that one."

"Ah, I'm sorry, it's my first day and no one tells me how to do anything around here and I grabbed the wrong box," he groans, covering his face with one free hand. The delivery-boy expression has disappeared and he looks tired, surly, frustrated. "I can bring you back the right pizza really soon. This must be someone else's anyway."

"All right, it's fine," she soothes. "Don't rush. I'm just here studying."

"Heh, you and everyone else on the campus." Soul gives her a distracted, rueful grin as he turns to walk back to the car.

"See you soon!" Maka calls brightly. She feels bad for him. She can remember her first day at work in the library, and imagines it must be busier and more chaotic in food delivery service.

When she hears the next knock, she doesn't bother to turn down the music before answering.

"Hey. Thank you for your patience," he recites tiredly, holding out the box containing her small margherita pizza. "That's ten forty-two."

She hands him twelve dollars and tells him to keep the change.

He looks confused. "You're tipping me?"

"Mmhm!" she hums.

"But I fu-- er, I screwed up your order," he says blankly. His demeanor is different, his guard down.

"Not on purpose," she smiles. "It's just common courtesy to tip, right? Good luck with the rest of your shift."

"Well, ah, thanks," he says, surprised but genuine. He appears to interrupt himself mid-thought before asking, "Also, wait a sec. What is that song playing? Is that Dream Theater?"

"Yeah, I'm studying for Music Appreciation." Maka rolls her eyes. "It's not easy. I just don't get music, I guess."

The delivery boy's expression is hard to read, but he looks thoughtful. "Ah. Hmm. That's one of my favorite songs, actually." He smiles a little bit, tiredly. "Anyway. Thanks, and...yeah, good luck with that."

Maka is distracted by the look in his eyes - he's far more interested, either in her or in the music, than employees usually are when they make idle conversation with the public. "Yeah, thanks."

"Well, see you around," he says pleasantly.

She's caught between saying "take care" and "good luck," so she mutters "Take...luck. Er, good care. No! Good luck. Bye."

She doesn't leave the door open long enough to see his response, but she can hear him laughing all the way back to the car.

* * *

 

**Wednesday, October 21**

Next time she orders out - two days later - Maka has only just gotten off the phone with her mother, and she is in a very good mood despite still studying music. She leaves the player on low and temporarily abandons the study packet. The room is chilled from the October air outside and Maka is grateful for her soft, thick, moon-printed pajama pants.

She doesn't expect to see the same delivery boy, but there he is, and now he's looking confusedly at the receipt and the box. He's sort of appealing in a bizarre way, she thinks. His red and black uniform highlights his eyes and his hair contrasts starkly with the red and black hat. His brows are furrowed when she opens the door.

"You again?" she greets him teasingly.

"I always work this time. Small pepperoni pizza?" he asks cautiously.

Maka giggles. "Yeah, don't worry - you're right. You gave me the idea last time. How's the job?"

"It's fine, I guess," he answers. "Pretty much what I expected." She offers him a debit card and he uses the pocket scanner, juggling the pizza box, a pen, and the receipt for her to sign.

"I know one of your supervisors. Liz," Maka says.

"Ah, yeah. She's...nice."

"You don't sound enthusiastic," Maka says wryly.

"Well, she usually is nice, but she has a temper. Especially when it gets busy."

"Thought so." Maka grins knowingly and hands the receipt over in exchange for the box. "I'm Maka, by the way."

"I'm Soul." He glances down at the nametag to the side of his red polo shirt. "I'm guessing you already knew that, though. Well, have a good night, Maka."

"Hang on!"

"Hmm?"

"What else are you doing? Are you in school or anything?" She looks genuinely curious.

"Ah, I'm here. I'm an undeclared major, though," he answers somewhat mysteriously.

"I see. What year?" she presses.

"Junior."

"Junior and undeclared, huh...?"

Soul shrugs. "Yeah. I know, I know..." He sounds irritated, and she guesses she touched a nerve.

Maka gets the sense that he doesn't want to talk anymore and patiently resists the urge to snap back. "Ah. All right. See you around, then," she says instead.

"'Bye, Maka." He flashes her a roguish but encouraging grin before climbing back into the car. She wishes she could read him as easily as one of her books.

* * *

 

He sighs.

He really doesn't like talking about what he plans to do with his life, but fortunately she seemed to take the hint.

She's interesting. Obviously not a musician, which is refreshing as far as he's concerned. She's friendly and bouncy and studious on the outside (which might get a little annoying after a while) but he can tell there's more to her. He likes her eyes and her voice and the way she moves. That petite, delicate figure, too. He grins a bit, then almost groans out loud at his own thoughts.

Crap. He forgot to ask what she was in school for. Maybe she would have wanted to talk about her own future plans, since she had asked him about his. He hopes - though he can’t help but feel it’s a little sappy - that they will meet again.

But shit. It’s time to address the problem of tonight.

Soul has about nine thousand assignments due in classes he doesn't give a shit about this week. He doesn't want to flunk out of school - thinks he can probably pull enough out of his ass to get by with Bs and Cs - but the rest of his life is starting to worry him.

If he keeps going this way, he's going to graduate with a degree in general studies, which will prepare him for exactly nothing. As much as he’s been enjoying his carefree life so far, he has to admit that now’s the time to start thinking about the future.

He has long since admitted to himself that what he really wants to be is a musician. Nothing else in the world offers the same thrill as the piano, and even other aspects of music fascinate and liberate him. But, he reminds himself, that is a pipe dream. Music is a difficult career, and there's no way he's going to be good enough to succeed. He'll end up a lousy mimicry of his brother at best, homeless and alone at worst. (Or dependent on his family forever. That might be the worst.)

Surely there must be some kind of second-best major, as pathetic as that sounds. Soul wishes he had some other kind of talent, something else he loved, something else he could go far away to pursue so he wouldn't feel like he was trying to be a cheap knockoff of someone else.

Soul slams the door on the way into his own apartment a little louder than he'd intended, probably because he's just caught sight of the mountain of work waiting stacked on the bed. Math is actually not as horrible as everyone makes it out to be, but it's not something he wants to pursue for the rest of his life. American History: 1865-1918 is driving him absolutely insane. He can't wait to get away from that class. Chemistry also makes him want to crawl in bed and sleep until the semester is over. And Italian...Italian is fine, it's not so much work, but he doesn't even know why he took it, because he doesn't see a use for it in the future. He's not going to Italy. He's not going to be a translator.

He's finally facing the fact that a degree that should take four years will probably take him six, even if he makes up his mind tomorrow. Because he’s a procrastinator, he decides to make some of his favorite powdered hot chocolate and sits outside to watch the gold light from the sunset stretching across the apartment building across the road.

Looks like he’ll be calling out to finish his work in a panic on Friday evening.

* * *

 

**Friday, October 23**

Maka looks at her phone, then looks back at her work. Then looks back at her phone.

Is she really ordering pizza again tonight because she’s hungry? Because she’s in the mood for pizza?

Or is it because she’s hoping that interestingly odd guy will show up again?

...Is it really acceptable to spend twelve dollars just to get some cute stranger to show up at her doorstep? When she puts it that way, she thinks she should probably just be straightforward and ask him for his number sometime. She's never been much of a date person, but she knows the power of taking initiative.

When she calls, it occurs to her that she has no way of guaranteeing who will deliver her pizza, and she is absolutely not going to request a specific driver.

"Hi, thank you for calling Slice of Life Pizzeria. How can I help you?"

Especially not to Liz, because Liz will know what's going on and will tease Maka mercilessly about it.

When she answers the door, she has to hide her disappointment, because Soul isn't the one delivering after all.

"Sorry your boyfriend couldn't be here. He called in sick today," Liz smirks.

"I - what - huh?!" Maka can’t win, apparently, because no matter how much nothing she says about him, she’s getting teased anyway. She can feel the heat rushing to her face and barely quashes the reflex to ask how Liz knew Maka's thoughts.

"I get to know everyone pretty well right off the bat," Liz says, which does nothing to reassure Maka that her thoughts are private after all. "Last time you ordered, he was on his way out. He could have left and made someone else bring your food, but he said he remembered you and offered to bring it on his way home."

"And that means he's my boyfriend?" Maka asks, genuinely confused, embarrassed, and a little flattered.

Liz chuckles. "No, I was exaggerating. But I can tell he doesn't really like work, and he went out of his way to see you even though it meant staying a bit longer."

"Seems like you're grasping at straws, Liz," Maka answers.

"I can read guys. Believe me." Liz winks. “Besides, just to make sure, I called you his girlfriend and that really got under his skin. He was denying it all the way out the door. Methinks the lady doth protest too much, right?”

“I...don’t know.”

“I do,” Liz grins. “You’ll see.”

"Well anyway," Maka says hurriedly, handing over her payment, "I hope he feels better. You have a good day, too."

"Thanks! Take care. Oh, and I don’t think he’s really sick. I think he’s catching up on schoolwork." Liz waves as she turns around and makes her way energetically back to the car. They must be a lot less busy today for her to seem so relaxed.

Maka goes to sit on her couch and just stares at the pizza in the box for a while.

* * *

 

**Monday, October 26**

The next time he sees her, they’re both at school. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised; he already knows they’re both taking classes here.

This is the music building. Sometimes - and this is something he never tells anyone - he comes here to fool around on the piano. She must be waiting for class, because she’s sitting in the hallway reading a textbook. Her hair is up in pigtails, and he realizes he thinks this is cute but liked it very much when it was down and he could see all of it.

He stops in front of her. She doesn’t look up. He smirks to himself. There’s something about seeing her so absorbed that it makes him want to tease her to see how she reacts.

“Nerd,” he says.

She doesn’t respond for a moment, but then she looks up fiercely and says “Excuse me?” before recognition dawns in her eyes. “Soul!”

Yes. Cute.

“Yeah, hi. We both go here. Nice to see you when I’m not at work.”

“You can’t call customers names!” she says hotly.

“I’m not at work,” he repeats. “What, you think I’m a pizza delivery boy 24/7?”

“W-well, no, of course not.” Maka blushes and moves her bags. She seems to want him to join her, so he sits down. She must be one of those people who has a hot temper but forgives quickly.

“Waiting for class?” he asks to get the conversation going.

“Yeah. Got an hour or so left.” She’s still reading.

“Jeez, you’re here an hour ahead of time?”

“I use the time to get reading done, yeah.”

“Ah. Do you actually like reading?”

Maka smiles a little. “Well, I love reading. I don’t always love the reading that’s assigned in class, but I’m careful to do it anyway because it’s important information.”

“Huh.” Soul looks at his feet, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t really do _any_ of the reading,” he says. He hopes his tone is shameless, but around Maka it feels like a confession.

“That’s not surprising. A lot of people don’t,” she answers. He’s a little surprised; somehow, he’d expected her to chastise him. But instead she looks up from her book and asks, “What do you like to do?”

“I uh. Well, I play basketball sometimes.” Soul fiddles with his hands.

“Oh! You’re an athlete?” He can tell she’s skeptical. Sure, he’s in shape enough, but he knows he really doesn’t have an athletic appearance.

“Oh no. I just play around for fun. It’s not a serious thing.”

Maka quirks an eyebrow. “Well, is anything you do serious?”

Soul rolls his eyes. “Why should it be? It looks like everything you do is serious enough for both of us.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “No way! I’m fun, too!”

“But really,” he continues, not fully understanding why he has the urge to divulge this, “I’m into music. I spend a lot of time listening to it. I guess you could say I take that seriously.”

“So do you play anything?” Maka asks eagerly.

“I play...well, I used to play the piano.”

“What made you stop?”

“What makes you ask me all these questions?” He shoots back.

“I’m just curious. Jeez. I keep running into you but I don’t know anything about you at all.”

“Just not really gonna do anything with it,” he answers, then tries to change the subject to something safer. “Do you like music?”

“Of course. Doesn’t everyone? But I don’t know anything about it,” Maka admits. “I just listen.”

“Well, someone has to be the listener, I guess. What do you like to listen to?”

“Mostly dance music.”

“Pffft. Maka.”

“What?!”

“Nothing, nothing.”

Maka pouts. “Somehow I don’t think you’re complimenting me.”

Soul chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’m just a music snob, I admit it.”

She pauses for a moment, looking out the window. “Well, I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“So wait. What’s your major? I never asked you.”

“Pre-med.”

“That’s intense,” he answers, genuinely intimidated.

“Yeah, well, it’s really easy if you’re a giant nerd like me,” Maka says wryly.

Soul concedes by nodding. “Ah, there is that.” She grins at him.

Then there’s that awkward, self-loathing kind of silence which happens when two people want desperately to connect but realize they have absolutely no idea how to go about it. Soul finally breaks it by asking, “So anyway, you work a lot. What do you do for fun?”

Maka eyes him. “You’re just gonna laugh.”

“I might.”

She sighs. “Probably the one thing I do most consistently is read. Sometimes I get in the mood for puzzles. I do genuinely like studying - sometimes, at least - I volunteer, and I run.”

“Ugh. You’re like...perfect.”

Maka laughs. “You’re too kind.”

“Now that wasn’t a compliment,” Soul argues. “Don’t you ever relax? Or slack off or whatever?”

“Well, sure. But there’s a lot of stuff I like to do. Reading and puzzles are relaxing, you know. You can do those at home.”

Soul shrugs. “Whatever. I give up.” He flinches as she slaps his arm playfully, but before she can say anything his phone beeps loudly.

“Oops, sorry.” He peers at the text message, then rolls his eyes and sighs. “Crap. I should go.”

“What’s the matter?” Maka asks tensely.

“Ah, nothing awful. My brother locked himself out of the house. Again.”

“Uh oh. How’s he getting back in?”

Soul stands up. “Me. I don’t live at home, but it’s only about half an hour away.”

Maka makes a sympathetic noise. “Take care, then. See you later.”

* * *

 

She walks to the restaurant to pick up the pizza this time. It’s raining, and she’s grateful that it isn’t windy, because this umbrella is somewhat prone to being blown inside out.

On the surface, if anyone asked, she would tell them she needed a break from schoolwork and she was taking the opportunity to get some fresh air by walking instead of having the food delivered.

But Maka knows she’s going because she’ll probably run into Soul there. She knows he works four hours nightly on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings between 4 and 8. Considering that he is a delivery boy, he will probably be coming and leaving a lot but he would have to spend some time there, right? And if it's a quiet evening, maybe he'll be around more often than not.

When she walks in, she sees him immediately behind the counter. The little pizzeria is quiet tonight, and Patti is sitting in a chair by the cash register playing a handheld video game.

“Hi Patti,” Maka says, and nods at Soul.

“Hey Maka,” Patti says, as if oblivious - though Maka knows better. She reads the menu. Behind her, Soul waves.

“Hmmm. Can I get a slice of sausage pizza?”

“Just a slice?” Soul pipes up from the kitchen.

“Y-yes...why?” Maka asks, unsure of where this is going.

“Well I’d figure you’d want a whole one, since you apparently eat an entire pizza almost every night.”

Maka blushes. She hadn’t thought of that. In truth, she has been eating pizza for at least two meals every day now, but she had not thought about the possibility that anyone would notice.

“Mind your own business. Maybe I like leftovers,” she says airily.

“Which kind of sausage? The small crumbles, or the large Italian?”

“Large Italian,” Maka answers.

“Ah, I see,” Patti says with a twinkle in her eye.

“Shut up,” Maka says under her breath, but her lips pull up at the sides, because Patti just inspires smiles.

She sits at one of the three small booths to wait for her slice. Liz comes out from the back room and stops by to say hello, returning to the dingy managers’ office when the separate phone inside rings.

Soul is the one who serves her pizza, and he sits down across from her.

“Slow night?” she asks, surprised.

He nods. “Yeah. Fortunately. I don’t feel like talking to customers.”

“Sorry. Guess I’ll leave you alone,” Maka says wryly.

“Not you.” Soul makes a face and sticks his tongue out. “Some of the obnoxious people I deliver to.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Maka asks.

“Ah, well, a lot of them are jerks. They don’t even tip and they get mad at me if the pizza isn’t exactly what they wanted, when I think half the time they just make shit up as they go so they can give me a hard time. I’m like their personal punching bag.”

She makes a sympathetic noise. “I’ve heard delivery can be dangerous.”

“It’s not really dangerous,” he says. “I only deliver to people here on campus. We’re not in the middle of the city or in an isolated area. And I only work until 8 at night. I met a delivery guy from the middle of the city last weekend and when I told him about my job he thought it was a complete joke.”

“Oh well,” Maka says. “It’s better to not get mugged, right?”

“Yeah.”

There are a few moments of silence. Maka studies Soul’s uniform out of the corners of her eyes. The sleeves, sides, and collar of the polo shirt are black, while the chest and back are red; his hat follows a similar pattern, with an entirely black brim. Slice of Life’s logo is on the shirt’s left breast.

“So what made you want to work here anyway?” Maka asks, and hopes it doesn’t sound nosy or condescending. She’s just curious.

“Getting away from my family,” Soul answers without pause.

“Huh?”

“Well...it’s complicated. But I don’t want to have to rely on them for everything.”

“Ah. I see.” But she doesn’t really see at all, and now she’s out of things to talk about. Not wanting him to get bored and leave, she says, “You said the other day that you used to play piano. Was it just a hobby or were you thinking of it as a job or what?”

“Ah. Well, I used to do it all the time. I practiced a lot. I was very serious about it.”

“Do you ever do it now? For fun?”

Soul looks at her for a few seconds, apparently sizing her up, and speaks hesitantly. “Yeah. Sometimes. A little.”

“Ah. Why’d you quit?”

“You’re being nosy again.”

“I’m just curious!”

“Honestly, the reason I’m not going into music is because that’s all my family’s ever been known for. And I’ll always be in their shadow; really, I’ll probably fuck things up for them, too. Names are important in that business. I need to start fresh.”

Maka isn’t sure how to respond to this, because he seems so certain and it seems like a touchy subject. It seems like he’s been waiting for ages to finally spill these feelings to someone, too. But she also thinks he’s flat-out wrong, and she can’t let him get away without telling him so.

“That seems like kind of a funny way to think about it,” she hazards. “I’ve never heard you play, but I don’t think you could be that serious about it and not be good.”

Soul shrugs sadly. “I can, believe me.”

“So what, you’re just gonna let your family’s past dictate your future?” She doesn’t intend to sound that angry, but watching people self-destruct has never gone over well with her, and her feelings creep into the undertone of her voice.

“None of your business. You don’t understand,” Soul says gravely. “Now can we please talk about something else?”

“I was just trying to help, but fine,” Maka spits. She almost has the urge to storm out, but she settles for crossing her arms over her chest because they almost got somewhere - she can feel it.

“So,” he says, and all of his anger is gone, replaced by awkwardness. He scratches the back of his head. “I just don’t know. I didn’t mean to yell at you or anything, but I really just need time.”

“Well, say that next time.” Maka uncrosses her arms. He’s so uncomfortable it’s hard to stay angry, so she also smiles encouragingly. “I can understand that, I guess. Just one thing.”

“Huh?”

“If you play for me, I’ll never bug you about it again.”

“I…why are you so obsessive about this?”

“Come on, I just wanna get to know you. Promise I’ll never bring it up again.”

“What makes you think hearing me play the piano is going to let you know me any better?” he asks.

Maka shrugs. “I can’t explain it. I just have a feeling, because you’re really sensitive about it.”

Soul buries his face in his hands. “All right. Fine,” says his muffled voice. “I can see I can’t shake you.”

“Yay,” Maka says happily.

“But,” Soul adds, “you’ll have to wait an hour for my shift to end.”

“I’ll have another slice of pizza anyway. Still hungry.”

“And then we have to walk there. Across campus.”

“That’s fine with me.”

As if on cue, Liz rings the bell from the kitchen. “Order up, Soul.”

He sighs heavily.

* * *

 

The route to the music building is lit by orange street lights all the way through campus. It’s actually quite beautiful, and Soul thinks it’s atmospheric considering that Halloween is imminent. Walking with Maka at night is wonderful. The conversation she makes with him is light and she responds enthusiastically to all of his attempts at banter, including his inane jabs at her taste in pizza (“margherita is a dumb kind”). She moves like a little bird, talking and bouncing around him almost in circles at times.

As they approach the building, he finds himself getting anxious. He’s made such a big deal out of everything and now they’re going to arrive at the piano room and he’s going to play and it’s going to be mediocre and she’s going to think he’s an absolute nutcase for hiding this thing about himself as though he’s being asked to pull his pants down in public.

But he keeps moving forward, even though he’s struggling to find words, and when they arrive he’s glad there’s no one else hanging around in the piano room.

Which, he realizes, must mean that he wants her to hear him.

“Fine,” he says, and sits down at the bench. He feels a lot of warmth next to him and realizes she has taken it upon herself to join him on the piano bench. He doesn’t ask her to move, but glances at her face. She nods her encouragement.

So he plays.

He plays for what feels like a long time. Soul knows that this particular song usually takes about three and a half minutes to get through, but it seems longer. The whole time, he doesn’t feel a single stirring from the person next to him.

Finally, he’s done, and he hesitantly checks on her expression. She’s still watching his hands, but when he looks at her she makes eye contact.

“Soul, what the hell are you talking about? You’re amazing.”

He shrugs. “You have terrible taste in music--” he says, but is interrupted by a restrained punch to the arm.

“No. Shut up. Just shut up. You can do whatever you want, and I promise I won’t nag you about it again, but even I know you’re good, so please just accept a compliment for once?”

Soul scratches his head.

“My parents showed me how to play one song, kind of,” she adds shyly.

“Oh?” Soul says, glad for the change in subject. She’s already reaching for the keys, counting the white keys between the black ones, and uses one hand to haltingly play out a few notes.

“I can’t remember the notes, though,” she says sadly.

“Can you hum it?” he asks. She does, and he recognizes it instantly.

“I know that one. See? It goes like this.” And he demonstrates for her: C C C, CBACDE…

She copies him, playing it halfway through before screwing up and starting over entirely.

“That’s like the first song everyone learns,” she says sheepishly after finally playing it all the way through.

“No, Chopsticks is the first song everyone learns. Learned ‘em both when I was three, though.”

Maka sticks her tongue out and goes back to playing, a little faster this time.

Soul decides to join in on his side of the piano. He knows a more complicated version of this song, but he chooses the simple version, pairs of notes played as chords. Two pairs of Cs, of As, of Fs and Gs. And so on.

They go on like this for longer than he had expected. Sometimes she hits a wrong note, gets flustered, and restarts, but he never says anything, only patiently resumes his own part. Finally, she laughs and the playing ends.

“Thanks, Soul. It sounded better that way.”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Ah, I dunno. I just...wasn’t expecting that. Wasn’t expecting you to join in,” she elaborates.

Soul shrugs. He wants to end on a high note tonight, and it’s getting late, so he tells her, “It’s late. I should probably grab the bus. Supposed to hang out at my friend’s tonight.”

Maka nods. “Ah, guess so.”

He stands up, and then thinks of something. “Hang on.”

“Hmm?” Maka looks up from getting her sweater on. He hadn’t realized she took it off.

“Would you want to exchange numbers or something?” he asks. His cheeks are lightly dusted with pink, because he has never done this in his life before. Every friend, acquaintance, or romantic entanglement he has ever had has been initiated by the other person.

“Yeah, sure,” she says as casually as she can manage and hands him her phone. “If you put yours in, I’ll text you mine.”

* * *

 

**Wednesday, October 28**

She’s in the shower when she gets a text. It hurries her out. It’s from Soul, which is a surprise, because this is the first one he’s sent her.

_Guess whose car is totaled._

_Oh no!! are you ok?!_ Maka responds automatically. She stares at the phone. He must be basically fine if he’s texting her, but she doesn’t know what else to say. Something in the back of her mind is flattered that he would even think to contact her about it, but she tamps it down until she knows for sure what’s going on.

_Yeah fine but this is exactly what i didn’t fucking need right now_

A plan starts to form in her head. _Where are you? Is there anything you need?_

_Intersection of rt 42 and lunar st and i just need the towtruck sometime before next year_

Maka knows exactly where he is. She dries off and throws on some clothes - sweat pants, a comfortable shirt, and her warm jacket - and leaves for the chilly night air. There’s a gas station conveniently situated between her apartment and where Soul’s car should be.

* * *

 

She’s stopped responding. Well, what can he expect? How can you respond to that? She’s already been sympathetic enough, and it’s not as if she can magically make the tow truck guys get here any faster.

He leans his seat back and tries to relax. It’s not easy. The pizzas he had been intending to deliver are smeared all over the windshield. Now everything smells like cheese and buffalo sauce. The airbags have deflated by now, so they’re not in the way too much. Fortunately, Liz understood the situation and told him not to worry about the last hour of his shift, but he’s still shaken.

There is a knock at his window and he almost jumps out of his seat. When he glares angrily to his left, he catches Maka’s eye and almost jumps out of his seat again.

“Maka!” He opens the door because rolling down the window would take too long.

“Hi. Are you all right?” she asks again, and he realizes the cup she’s holding out must be intended for him.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” he answers, and accepts her gift. He knows the car looks especially bad in the front, which is where she’s staring now; the windshield has a spider web of cracks all over it, the driver’s side half of the hood is crumpled, and the bumper is dented in further than it ever stuck out. The driver’s side headlight is no more.

He’s never liked coffee, but he feels like he should drink it, so he holds it up and says, “Thanks,” before taking a sip. At least she loaded it up with sugar and cream.

“What happened?” Maka finally wonders.

“Not really sure. Some asshole crossed the yellow line and hit me, but then he kept driving.”

“Did you get his license plate? Or what kind of car he was in?”

Soul took another sip of the coffee. All right, so maybe it’s fine this way. “No. It was a reddish truck or SUV or minivan, something big. And it was a guy driving it. I think there was some weird thing on his nose, but I’m really not sure, because it all happened so fast. He just kinda sat there and stared at me for about ten seconds before taking off again. I’m sure there’s a truck somewhere out there with a big dent in the front, but apparently it fared better than my car.”

“Hmm.” Maka pauses for a moment. “Don’t you think you should go to the hospital?”

“What for?”

“Just to get checked out.”

“Nah. I’m fine.” He sees her skeptical expression, smiles, and adds, “I promise. You’re not the first one to say that.”

Maka nods uncertainly and shuffles in place. He can’t invite her to sit in the car - there is pizza everywhere - so he climbs out instead to lean against the outside.

She points at his chest, and it confuses him until she mentions that he is entirely slathered in pizza. He laughs.

“Ah. I guess it really did go everywhere. I didn’t notice before.”

Being with her calms him. She asks what he’s going to do about work, since he relies on this car for his job. Soul admits that he can go to his family for help, and they will be more than able to provide him with another car, probably one of the hand-me-downs they’d saved just for something like this.

“But I don’t want to have to get help from them.” At her questioning glance, he elaborates. “What we were talking about the other night. I feel like being able to get by on my own is important, so I try not to ask for too much money. That’s why I’m working in the first place.”

Both turn toward the pair of bright lights coming down the street. It’s the towtruck. It doesn’t take as long as he thought it would to hook his poor car up, and when the driver pulls away with it, Soul nods to Maka.

“Thanks for waiting with me. And for this.” He holds up the empty coffee cup. “Have a good night.”

“I’ll walk you to the bus stop,” Maka says. It’s a short trip, and the bus comes right away, but he’s more grateful to her than he can articulate for keeping him company.

When he's making his way into the bus, he hears her call after him. "Hey! I'm glad you're all right! Take care, okay?"

* * *

 

**Friday, October 30**

Over the next two days, they text more than she would have expected.

None of the discussion is very substantial. How can it be in a 160-characters-or-fewer format? But it’s nice anyway. She enjoys his snarky observations about the world and is relieved to discover that he has acquired another car without too much trouble.

One day, she receives a text and expects it to be commentary about one of his classes again.

Instead, it says, _Hey. friend won’t stop nagging me about going to halloween party. Want to come?_

Maka chuckles and types back, _Yeah, definitely! Why don’t you want to go?_

A few minutes later, he answers, _Im just not a party person. I like the people there but id rather just hang out._

Maka shrugs at her phone. _Well, I’m looking forward to it. When and where is it?_

His response is quick enough to make her grin. _Tomorrow night around 8 at 42 privet circle._

She frowns and answers, _I could make it, but my music exam is at 8 Monday morning…_

She can almost hear him laughing in his simple text: _Bookworm_

She rolls her eyes. _Fine, but you’re helping me study on Sunday._

 _Whatever floats ur boat._ Was that a “yes” without an argument?

 _Who’s your friend, anyway?_ she asks.

_Guy named kirikou. Rents a house with some of his friends._

Maka is trying to think of a good response when she receives another message from him: _Also, it’s a halloween party so dont be the only person without a costume :P_

Her face lights up.

* * *

 

**Saturday, October 31**

The house is larger and busier than she’d thought it was going to be. She can hear the bass dropping from all the way out here on the street. For some reason, the house also looks strange, though she can’t put her finger on it yet.

Maka has an odd relationship with parties. She often gets caught up in something at home - reading, studying, occasionally even watching TV - but when she manages to get out of the house, she has never been to a party she didn’t like. She loves talking to people and even enjoys dancing on occasion, though she has to be in the right mood.

Of course, this is slightly different. She has no idea who besides Soul is going to be here, nor what kinds of activities everyone will want to do. She hopes there won’t be excessive underage drinking. While Maka has accepted that many people - maybe more than not - drink underage, she does not like the idea of being at a party when it is broken up by the police. Her impeccable GPA and impressive repertoire of extracurriculars might not balance out an arrest record.

Upon approaching the door, she notices what had looked so strange before: all the shades are pulled on all the windows.

She arrives at the front door and finds the doorbell. There is a spider decoration on it, and when she presses the button, she can just hear the faint screaming sound it makes in the house. There is the sound of clunking in the hallway, and then the door opens.

“Nice hat,” says the young man who opens the door. He has deep brown skin, though a lot of it is obscured by fake but convincing blood and wounds. There is an equally convincing fake rod sticking through his abdomen.

Maka agrees; it is a very nice hat. She splurged a bit for this costume. At first, she doubted the witch hat - at first it seemed like an excessive prop - but Tsubaki had insisted it was perfect and adorable and everything a Halloween costume should be. “Thank you,” Maka answers pleasantly, and holds out her hand. “I’m Maka.”

“I’m Kirikou. You’re Soul’s friend, right?” When she nods, he gestures her inside and around the corner.

Inside, Maka can see that one of the rooms is completely dark inside except for some black lights and laser effects. This is the room from which the music is emanating. The rest of the house is dimly lit, and there are refreshments scattered about.

“He’s sitting in his chair. As usual.”

Soul looks up in response to Kirkou’s voice. “Shut up,” he says. He’s wearing a black pinstriped suit with a red shirt underneath. Maka is about to ask what he is when he flashes her a grin and waves. His teeth are usually odd and sharp, but now he has a pair of fake fangs in.

Kirikou grins. “I’m gonna go. Dancing’s in the other room; you guys should come join us.”

Maka points at Soul. “Vampire?”

“Yeah.”

“Subtle.”

“Thanks. You are...not so subtle.”

Maka sticks her tongue out.

“Hey, Soul! It’s our jam, rememb-- oh, hi Maka,” says a gorilla-masked blur who rushes in from the other room.

“Black Star?” Maka gapes disbelievingly.

“What are you doing here?” Black Star asks, stopping in his tracks.

“Soul invited me. What about you?”

Soul looks back and forth between the two. “You know each other?”

“Only since we were like...three!” Maka answers. “We grew up in the same town.” And then she turns to Soul. “So how long have you two been friends and how did we not meet before?”

Black Star answers instead. “We met this past spring in our stupid Lit course. Soul plays ball with me and the guys most of the time in the evening.”

Soul shrugs at Maka. “Yep.”

“You don’t care about basketball, so you don’t know a lot of people I play with,” Black Star continues. “See what you’ve been missing?”

“Hmm. Guess you’re right.” She makes a face. “I still don’t really care about basketball, though…”

Black Star rolls his eyes. “Anyway, how did you two meet?” The way he says ‘you two’ gives her a funny feeling in her stomach.

“At work,” Soul offers.

“You work at Slice, too?”

“No. He delivered a pizza to me--”

“--like NINE pizzas--”

“--that’s an exaggeration. We got to know each other because sometimes he delivered pizzas to me and then we met again at school.”

Black Star teases them a little about that, and Maka is pleased to see that it doesn’t seem to be scaring Soul away.

* * *

 

An hour passes before the distinctive beginning of a popular song - sped up for the sake of dancing, of course - seems to generate some kind of reaction in Maka.

“This is my favorite song right now! I don’t wanna just dance with some stranger!” Soul glances around and finds himself surprised to realize she’s talking to him. “Pleeeeeease?” she adds.

He’s has never thought of himself as particularly prone to falling for puppy eyes, but her expression - her little pout, her wide green eyes that match perfectly with the lace on her costume robe and hat - seem to be clouding his judgment, because he sighs. “Okay. Fine. Just for one song. And if anyone starts watching us the deal’s off.”

“Good,” Maka squeals happily, and before he can reassess his decision she grabs his hand to drag him to the darkened dance room.

When they arrive, Maka turns to him and grabs both his hands. Soul has absolutely no idea what she’s doing, but it looks like she thinks she’s dancing.

“Wait wait. Hang on. You have absolutely no rhythm.”

“Does that surprise you?” Maka pouts again. He has an image of her talking about her course while he’s holding her pizza, which feels like another life compared to this atmosphere. “If you’re such a genius, why don’t you show me how to do it?”

“Well uh. How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know,” Maka admits and takes both his hands again. “Just show me how you move, I guess.”

Cautiously, feeling very out of practice, Soul begins to sway. He actually has no idea what to do with his hands. He’s learned to do this entirely by watching others and understanding the beat and time signature of the music. But Maka is able to follow. It’s nice, swaying with her. She presses a little closer when they settle into a pattern.

The song ends. The next song begins.

“Oh, I really like this one, too!” Maka says. “Please?” she adds hopefully.

Soul rolls his eyes and sighs, but he’s a goner. They start again, the beat a little faster this time.

“Our hands are kind of getting in the way, right?” Maka asks, annoyed.

“I guess so,” Soul answers uncertainly. He looks around at everyone else; Kirikou and his girlfriend are dancing, along with a number of strangers he doesn’t recognize. Black Star, who also has no sense of rhythm, is breakdancing solo. Most couples, though, are dancing back to front.

Maka glances from Soul to the other couples. He returns her gaze intensely, and she turns around, placing his hands abruptly on her waist.

“More comfortable, right?” she says over her shoulder.

He didn’t sign up for this.

They keep at it for two more songs before he moves closer. There’s a lot of space between them, and Soul misses being able to look at her face. He supposes it’s a good sign that she keeps wanting to dance with him, though. Aside from Kirikou and Black Star flashing him a grin and a thumbs-up, he is relieved to see that no one is giving attention to the fact that he’s dancing, which is something no one has ever seen him do.

At the beginning of a song he likes, Soul pulls himself slightly closer to Maka. She responds more enthusiastically than he thought, leaning back so that he can feel her against his front. Against his whole body.

“Thanks, Soul,” she says over her shoulder.

“No problem,” he says, mouth close by her ear. He doesn’t move. He’s almost leaning the side of his head against hers. His arms relax, and she reaches back to hold onto his hips. He basks in her warmth, and hopes she doesn’t turn her head to the side lest she see him grinning like the cat that ate all the cream.

They gyrate together, and he can’t ignore the heat of her (perfect) ass grinding lightly on the front of his pants.

He’s going to have to make a decision on whether he wants her to know how turned on she makes him.

* * *

 

Maka can’t ignore it. She definitely has a crush on this boy. She’s no good at dancing but she wants to do it all night anyway; even though she suspects Soul doesn’t know much about it either, he is good at leading her, and his gentle direction sets her free.

His body heat is soothing, comforting, and electrifying all at once against her back, against her ass. She is acutely aware of how suggestive their actions are, and she lets herself get a little bit frisky, maybe even - naughty? More so than she ever had in public, though it helps that everyone else is doing it and nobody seems to care. His hands are on her hips now, no longer in the relatively tame zone of the waist, and every part of both of them is moving in perfect tandem. She can imagine what his hands must look like, rising up and down with each sway of her hips.

There also might be something going on in his pants behind her. She presses against him harder now, just to confirm, and feels him exhale sharply. But he doesn’t pull away and she doesn’t stop and she tries not to gasp, too.

They continue for three more songs. By the time a song they can’t dance to comes on, Maka is panting and exhausted, but she is also exhilarated like she hasn’t been in a long time, and when she turns around she sees that Soul’s smiling, too.

“Wanna go hang out for a while?” he asks, hand still resting on her hip.

“Yeah, let’s go see what they’re doing out there,” she answers. When they arrive, Black Star is trying to figure out how many pretzels he can fit in his mouth because (apparently) Kirikou mentioned something about pretzels being painful to eat. Maka meets some more new people - Kim and Jackie, Harvar and Tsugumi - and the group stays up until three in the morning talking and laughing (and drinking, with some candy on the side).

When it’s time to say goodnight, despite being exhausted, Maka’s heart is pounding in her chest. She has no idea whether or not to invite Soul to her apartment, or whether he will invite her to his.

She wants him to, but the idea of that is also terrifying, because this is all moving rather quickly.

At Kirikou’s door, he turns to her. “Nice hanging out with you, Maka,” he says, voice soft, deep, and tired. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Huh?” Maka blinks, and then remembers too late the text she had sent. “Oh, right! Where do you want to meet?”

“The piano room?” Soul suggests. “I can probably help you better with some things if I can show you on a real instrument.”

“Sounds great,” she nods.

“Good. I can walk you home, if you want. It’s late.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Maka says, waving her hand and blushing. “I’ll be fine. It’s a short walk.” She’s not lying; it is a short, well-lit walk.

“It’s no trouble,” he insists, “but it’s up to you. Do me a favor, though?”

“Hmm?”

“Shoot me a text when you get in.”

Maka gives him a look.

“I know it’s dumb, but...you know.” Soul shrugs.

“Fine,” she grins. “Walk me back. But you have to text me when you get home.”

Few words are actually spoken during the chilly, street-lit walk back to Maka’s apartment; nobody mentions the thick tension between the green-lace witch and the dressy vampire. When they arrive at the doorstep, she turns to her company.

“Thanks, Soul. Now don’t forget to text me when you get home.”

While he’s busy rolling his eyes and saying “Yeah, yeah, fine--” she grabs his tie and pulls him toward her, before she can lose her nerve, and plants a quick kiss on his lips.

“Good...night?” he says as she steps through her door, and she’s very satisfied with herself for the way she smiles and waves as though it was no big deal at all even though her heart must be pounding at a million beats per minute.

* * *

 

He’s standing in the shower, naked, holding a bar of soap. The water is warm and comforting, and he closes his eyes. He can’t help but grin.

Maka.

She’s such a little dork, he can’t help but smile every time she pouts, but she’s also a complete smartass, witty and cute. And she’s obviously brainy as hell. What’s more, she actually seems to admire him, for some inscrutable reason. He has a fair number of friends, but no one who’s made him feel this at peace with himself in a long time.

He goes over the evening in his mind as he washes himself thoughtlessly.

Well, he hadn’t been trying to get aroused, but as he soaps up his most private parts and lathers his fingers through the trim layer of hair (while remembering the moment she maneuvered in front of him to dance), he’s getting as hard as a rock. Soul changes his mind about rinsing and instead runs his hand slowly from the base to the head of his cock, savoring the heat of his palm and the soap and the water and the memory of Maka’s hips.

Something in his belly jumps when his hand gets to the very tip, and it gives him a craving for more. He brings his hand back down his shaft to the thought of Maka’s ass against his front. He realizes he’s let out an audible groan, but it only encourages him. He tries to keep his movements slow to really prolong the pleasure. Somehow it’s only them now; her ass is pressed so hard against his front that he can feel her heat, it’s stimulating him.

He stops trying to move slowly, too caught up in his fantasy, and starts jerking himself at a satisfying speed.

They’re in a private place now. They’re alone, and she’s pressed so tightly against him that he can feel the curve of her lips and the hollow of her opening through her panties. Then they’re on the ground; she’s under him, and their tongues are intertwined and he’s rubbing his cock against the wet patch on her panties. There’s a flicker of her smile. She’s enjoying herself so intensely it makes him a little wistful with the hope that he will have both the opportunity and the skill to give her such a feeling in reality some day. He diverts his mind to the idea of what her pleasure might look, feel, and sound like.

Glorious.

He’s jerking fast now but it feels too good for him to be tired.

In his fantasy she’s riding him from below and she urges him to keep going, keep doing exactly this, please. And he does so until she’s completely satisfied; her orgasm ripples through her--

Meanwhile, under the running water, he throbs hard. Soul moans softly under his breath and comes all over the shower floor.

* * *

 

**Sunday, November 1**

The next day, Soul is intensely nervous about meeting Maka in the piano room.

He knows she wants to meet him there, and he knows it’s not just because he can help her study. But he feels as if he chickened out by not inviting her to _his_ apartment last night. Only an idiot would think they weren’t going in that direction. He wonders if she was happy with his farewell, or if she was left out in the cold.

“Hey, Soul,” she says. He grins toothily because she certainly doesn’t seem disappointed now, the way she’s beaming.

“Hey. What’s up?” he asks by way of greeting.

“Honestly, I’m panicking over some of this stuff.” She takes her backpack off her shoulder. In it is her textbook, a small CD player/radio, some headphones, and a bunch of music CDs of different genres. “I feel like it shouldn’t be this hard, you know?”

Soul shrugs. “Music’s not for everyone.” He leafs through the textbook. As he does so, his face becomes gradually more confused.

“Who the hell wrote this? It’s kind of strange information to put together, especially for an introductory elective.” He turns over the book to study the outside. _Written, edited, and annotated by Dr. Elias Xander Calibur_.

“My professor wrote it,” Maka shrugs. “He’s kind of crazy.”

“Guess so. Why don’t you just look it up online?”

“I don’t know where to start,” Maka admits. “I also don’t really know what he wants.”

“All I can really do is help you try to understand what I know. Like here, about dissonance and resonance, and all this stuff here.” He gestures at several chapters in the table of contents. “And I can demonstrate on the piano.”

“Whatever you can do. It’ll be nice to just talk to someone who knows what he’s doing.”

Soul hopes that’s not the only reason Maka chose him instead of a classmate.

* * *

 

It’s been six hours.

“Thank you so much,” Maka smiles tiredly. “I think I get all the important parts now. I didn’t know it was possible.”

“Of course it was,” Soul says over his shoulder. “Although I have to admit, you weren’t a quick study…”

She punches him lightly on the arm and kisses him on the cheek.

“I’ll see you soon, right?” she asks, more quietly than she had intended.

“Yeah,” he breathes, and brings his hand up to her cheek. He kisses her in return, and it’s light, but it feels like a promise. “Really soon.”

* * *

 

When she gets home, her head is abuzz with staticky stress from the impending exam, but it doesn’t chase away the feeling of Soul’s kiss. She draws a warm bubble bath to unwind and get ready for sleep.

Maka finds herself able to concentrate very little on reviewing exam knowledge and far more on thoughts of Soul. His crooked grin and quiet little laugh, she realizes, give her a feeling of gentle intimacy, like feathered wings unfurling in the heart of her being. She wonders if he does that more often for her than for other people.

She remembers the way his hands felt warm and strong on her hips last night, and how once they were together on the dance floor, he did not try to leave. She’s certain now that he is anxious about performing in front of other people in any way. For him to stay there with her for so long must have meant a lot. Maka laughs out loud, because for all the snark and nonchalance he offers, she knows he cares so much more than he’ll let on.

And then she remembers being able to feel his arousal behind her. They’d both been relatively discreet, but it had still been unmistakable, and oh, the thought that she could inspire him in such a way...

Her hand finds its way between her legs. She teases herself, as he seems to enjoy doing so much. In her mind she’s kissing him again, but it lasts longer and for the first time, she tastes his tongue.

Her two fingers slide toward her entrance. She imagines what it would be like to unzip him (those fingers slip in) and pull him onto the bed; he’s panting and hard when she grabs him. He gasps, and she catches his smoldering eyes. He’s as enthralled by her as she is by him, his shoulders and his hair and teeth and eyes; she realizes she’s flattering herself in her fantasy, but she wants it so badly...

She catches her clit with the side of her finger, and as she imagines Soul sliding into her desperate core, she finds the spot deep inside that will help assuage her own need. As she massages herself, she can imagine him pushing in and pulling out gently.

“Faster,” she whispers aloud, as if urging him, but she’s the one whose movement speeds up. She can feel herself moving around her own fingers, and pictures herself tightening around his thick, rigid cock instead.

Maka knows she’s reaching her climax, and focuses on a single image, a single fantasized moment: what it would feel like to come all over his dick, all around him while he breathes her name and spills inside of her.

Her orgasm is long and hard, and she preserves it as long as she possibly can before relaxing back into the bath water with a blissful sigh and Soul’s kisses on her mind. But she’s hit with a sudden melancholy, because he’s not actually there to embrace afterward.

* * *

 

**Monday, November 2**

She’s done. She takes a deep breath, and looks up to the front. _Please stay until all students are finished_ is written on the huge white board in the front of the lecture hall. She has no idea why that should be the case, but she puts her exam on the podium and obeys, sitting down at a different desk in the front row.

The exam went reasonably well. There were moments when she could practically hear Soul’s voice explaining an idea, other moments when she could hear him demonstrating on the piano. Looking back, she isn’t confident in all her answers, but he definitely helped.

It only takes about twenty minutes for the last few students in the class to finish, and soon everyone is waiting expectantly for what the professor has to say.

“I’ve thought carefully,” he begins, strolling out into the middle of the room. “You students are under a lot of pressure. I remember when I was a student, many, many years ago. That was a different time in history, during the Carter administration and just before Watergate. I think at that time, people valued work more than they do now. It was around Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s time, I remember it like yesterday - no, like an hour ago - and semesters were about three months longer than they are now. Where was I? Right, the Carter administration. Funny thing about that time. I was busy trying to console my friends and family about all the natural disasters. Well, anyway, while I never had any problems and always got impeccable grades, I know not all the people around me were as lucky. At the time, which was probably when most of you were just small children, it was common to carry a four-leaf clover in one’s pocket. But that was a simpler time. I’m not sure why; well, I suppose not everyone can be so smart and talented. Talent is a funny thing, isn’t it? They say you’re not supposed to refer to talent as such, but actually as hard work. I say you’re supposed to refer to hard work as talent, which is an idea I got from a salmon-fishing trip to Alaska in the late 1960s. I’d say that qualified as a natural disaster, but not because of me.”

And he talks for half an hour. Maka is accustomed to this. She is always afraid to leave, but this time she considers it.

“So at any rate, that is why I have decided to give everyone an A, regardless of your performance. You’ve earned it, class!”

Silence.

“You are most welcome and you are dismissed until next class. I have urgent matters to deal with.” The professor bows and backs out of the room through a side door.

Maka sits, staring at the white board. Part of her is relieved.

But part of her is enraged.

That part whips out her phone and punches out a message to Soul.

_My idiot professor gave everyone an A by default!_

He responds immediately. _Is that bad?_

_Well I only spent two weeks studying for it! And now what will happen for the final? Do I even bother with that?_

_Sorry maka, that sucks_

Something occurs to her.

 _Thank you for helping me anyway_ , she sends. Then she adds another message. _I had fun._

_Me too : ) talk to you tonight?_

_Definitely!_

* * *

 

She's enjoying a cup of hot chai tea - not her usual, but a celebratory gift to herself - with her slippered feet up on her table and evening TV on in the background. She is about twenty pages from finishing _Wealth and Taste_ when she hears a knock on her door. Maka considers ignoring it, because this is supposed to be her night to relax, but realizes Soul is most likely on the other side.

"Hey," he says. The season’s first little flecks of snow are starting to cling to his hat, hair, and shoulders, and he holds a pizza box toward her expectantly.

"Hi!" Maka's face lights up and she cautiously glances at the box. "This is for me? I didn't order anything."

"Yeah," he answers. She notices that he has roses in his cheeks and wonders if it's all the cold. He's smiling, and he makes hesitant eye contact for brief moments before looking back at the box. "It's on the house. Partly for your awesome grade. Partly condolences because your professor is a lunatic."

"Aww!" she cries softly. "You didn't have to do that. I just wanted to let you know because you helped me so much."

"It's all right. I wanted to." She accepts the box, and he nods. "Well, I was just on my way home. I'll text you, right?"

"Well, if you want, I don't really have anything to do tomorrow. My morning class isn't happening. So you can come in and help me eat this!"

"Ah," he says. "Well, yeah. Sure. Thanks!" She ushers him in and closes the door, reveling in the fact that there is no studying to be worried about.

She puts the box on the table and goes to the kitchen for some plates. When she returns, Soul is settling back into the couch and has invited himself to flip through the TV channels. He's still in his uniform, hat included. Now that she's used to seeing him in regular clothes it seems a little strange and formal.

"Ooh, margherita," she says when she opens the box.

"Wasn't sure what you were in the mood for, so I guessed," he says, almost apologetically.

"But you don't like margherita."

"So? I got it for you, smartie." He's lifting a slice onto a plate, though. "I can live with it."

It's hard to eat. Maka feels bad, because it tastes so good and he was so thoughtful to bring it to her. She's too nervous, though. He's devoured an entire slice and she hasn't made it through half of hers before she chooses to lean back into the crook of his arm.

For one breathtaking moment, he hesitates, and she worries that she's about to be rejected. But then his arm curves around her shoulder and pulls her gently closer.

After a few moments, Soul says quietly, "I've been thinking about it. And I'm starting to consider being a music major."

"Wow. That's pretty sudden. What changed your mind?"

"You did."

"...Me?"

"Yeah. Working with you showed me. I was thinking music could never be an option when really, I think it was the only good option this whole time."

"Didn't your family push you to go into it?"

"Yeah. But it's not the same hearing it from them. I'm their kid, and I'm also trying to make a name for myself."

"Hmm." Maka turns her head to him a little more, so she's practically nuzzling his chin. "I'm glad, Soul." She's self-conscious about her breath, but his actually smells good, and they've been eating the same thing, right?

"You made me realize how much I love it. I love it even when I'm not the best at it."

She snorts. "Yeah, but you _are_ the best."

"Careful. I might start to believe you."

She pokes his chin. "Good."

"Hey, Maka," he whispers, lifting a hand to tap her shoulder closest to him, and she must have intuited what he really meant, because she doesn't say anything but she turns her whole body toward him and their faces are hovering just in front of each other. She can feel the heat of his skin against hers and there's no way they can just disengage now.

The kiss is tentative and shy, neither partner sure what to do with their hands. It draws out that moment of anticipation, of the warmth of her lips against his, the pounding of their hearts upon realizing how this will change their relationship and that it will probably also lead to a lot more. He's gentle, but it strikes her how passionate he is. She can feel his nervous hope in the way he moves his mouth softly against hers. Both pull back to get a look at each other's eyes before going any further and they share a stupid, relieved giggle. The bill of Soul's hat bumps against her head, and she reaches up to take it off.

They don't dare separate the next time. She kisses his lips over and over again, never satisfied; he runs his hand across her back, light and reverent. Maka pushes closer to Soul so her arms are wrapped all the way around him. The kiss is getting deeper, and she feels his tongue caress her lip questioningly. She answers - a resounding "yes" - with a sweep of her own. They meet in the middle and the spark is now a flame. She tilts her head to the side so she can taste him better and let more of him in, pulls him closer and closer until she realizes that this will never be enough. She can never be close enough. She needs a world where they can join their very souls, but since that is not an option just now, she'll have to make do.

* * *

 

She amazes him. Frankly, Soul's a little shocked that she's so enthusiastic about someone like him, but he's not complaining (she's always been full of surprises anyway).

His hands are wandering. He would stop them if hers weren't just as adventurous. He lingers on her lower back, her hips - she's so small but so strong and he can't stop admiring the shape of her.

There is a pressing issue between his legs which makes his work pants incredibly uncomfortable. Also, she’s climbing on his lap, which only makes him harder. Maka settles comfortably on him, legs tightly hugging his own, and runs her hands through his hair while she tries kissing him from angles he didn’t even know were possible. He wraps his arms around her torso and bites her lip lightly, and she returns the favor.

She’s so sexy. His thumbs can feel her hot, tantalizing curves and angles, and it’s hard not to let them wander down her pants. Her heat against his boner is downright irresistible and he doesn’t realize how hard they’re grinding against each other until she lets out a soft, restrained little moan into his mouth. Fuck these stupid pants…

Maka pauses, embarrassed. “Hahah. Sorry. It just...this is nice, Soul.”

“Agreed,” he murmurs against her cheek, while moving his hands to her ass. It’s easier to grind upwards this way. They make out for a long time - it could be minutes or hours - before Soul pulls back, groaning involuntarily at the separation of their bodies. But he needs to be able to see her face.

“How far do you want to go?” he asks softly.

“As far as you do,” Maka answers with absolutely no doubt in her voice.

“Well, I uh. I don’t have any protection. Wasn’t really prepared.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been on the pill for a long time. So if you’re clean…”

“I am. You?”

Maka smiles, and he both hears and feels her sigh “definitely” against his mouth.

They’re an awkward mix of shy and eager. Soul kisses and sucks at her neck while Maka rubs his cock through his pants. He can tell she’s trying to savor the moment and knowing it drives him absolutely crazy.

Removing her shirt and bra - something he’s never been good at - is the most difficult part. Finally, she smirks at him and unhooks the bra herself, lets it fall somewhere to the side. He tentatively reaches up to touch her petite breasts. She responds by leaning against him so he can get a better grip. He grins.

At the same time, she mercifully unzips his pants to better stroke him. He makes a vague noise in response (“unf”) and realizes this might be the best night of his life so far.

It doesn’t take long to take turns undressing each other. Finally, they arrive at the much-anticipated moment. He suddenly - vividly - remembers fantasizing about this moment in the shower on Saturday night after he got home from the Halloween party.

That was nowhere near as good as this.

They’ve stayed on the couch. Moving to the bedroom would take too long. Maka holds his hard, near-aching length from where she still straddles his lap and…

Oh fuck.

“Fuuuuck,” he moans out loud as she works him all the way in. She’s biting her lip, and she makes a satisfied little noise when she’s settled. Soul puts one arm around her back and uses the other hand to massage her tit. They make eye contact and give each other giddy smiles. Maka braces her hands on Soul’s shoulders, and begins to move her hips.

The soft couch cushion would not be good for hard, quick thrusting, but Maka starts a slow, deep, loving gyration, and Soul finds it easy to join her from underneath. Once they have a rhythm going, their hands start moving again. He fingers her clit as best he can. She threads her fingers in his hair and kisses him fiercely.

Soul relishes her every move around his dick.

“Soul,” she says breathlessly. “I’m gonna…” She trails off in favor of a fervid groan.

“Yes, yes, Maka.” He pulls her in so her forehead is touching his and says, “You’re something else. You know that?”

He feels her tighten around him, hears her voice sighing. “Mmmmm. You - you too.” And he knows it’s the right time. They come together now, foreheads still touching, holding each other for dear life, panting in unison. Even as she can feel the throb of his climax deep inside herself, her orgasm beckons his bliss further forward, harder and longer. Soul tends to try to stay composed during sex, but this time it’s impossible for him not to vocalize while he comes. Each of his exhalations is accompanied by a quiet little moan.

At last, they’re fully exhausted, and she leans forward to rest her head against his shoulder. Soul plays the piano on her back while he lets her trace the contours of his body with her fingers. He doesn’t know what to say, but he does feel a sort of warm satisfaction settle in his stomach. It originates from so much more than the orgasm, and it reminds him there’s something he really wants to be clear about.

“Maka. Is this, you think, something you’ll wanna do again?”

“Already, Soul?”

“No no, I meant--”

Maka giggles. “I know. Just kidding. And yes, I really, really do.” She kisses his nose and looks more seriously into his eyes. “We can be...official, right?”

“Yes, Maka. God yes.”

* * *

 

**January 1, Midnight**

The end of an old year. The end of an era of indecision, and - hopefully very soon - the end of an era of pizza delivery service.

And the beginning of a brand new year with Maka.

It’s the best midnight kiss either has had yet. They’re outside, the sky is clear, the screen on the tall building nearby just finished broadcasting the countdown, and there are enough people to create a festive atmosphere without being obnoxiously crowded. It’s been half an hour but she still tastes like cotton candy and Maka, and he like soda pop and Soul.

Each pulls away self-consciously after a kiss that was probably going to get a little too intense for public. Instead they continue it by way of a tight embrace, and Soul does something he never thought he’d be dorky or euphoric enough to do - he pulls her up further into his arms and as her feet leave the ground, he spins the two of them around.

Gleefully, she laughs.

 


End file.
